


maid class (director's cut)

by cathrheas



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/M, Humiliation, Maids, Masturbation, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:00:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,562
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23387770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathrheas/pseuds/cathrheas
Summary: cyril jerking off in a maid outfit while shamir watches what else do you want
Relationships: Cyril/Shamir Nevrand
Comments: 1
Kudos: 10





	maid class (director's cut)

**Author's Note:**

> deleted this b4 realizing i didnt care

“Cyril, you look ridiculous.”

Shamir sighed through her nostrils. She’d only told one person about this little preference of hers, and that person was unfortunately a blabbermouth. Why Catherine decided to tell Cyril was a mystery, but a mystery soon solved.

“You don’t like it? Catherine told me you did,” Cyril said, frowning. “Maybe she was just playin’ tricks on me...”

It certainly looked like a trick. A cruel prank. Cyril was standing before Shamir in one of the discarded maid outfits, something the professor had looked fondly upon before the war began. It brought back memories of peacetime, looking at those silly outfits on anyone else, but it brought up something a little less...acceptable, when it came to Cyril.

And he definitely knew about Shamir’s kink—had it been something else, he might have worn one of the handsome little butler outfits, but he was dressed in the maid costume, complete with an apron, stockings, and a frilly skirt.

_ Fuck. Am I supposed to say no? _

“Just come here. And close my door.”

Cyril shut her door (and locked it, she appreciated that), then approached, a bit hesitant. Years of knowing the boy, and she’d never seen him act so cornered. Or maybe he’d learned the specifics of Shamir’s interests from Catherine, and he knew how she adored humiliation. It wasn’t an act, though. He looked genuinely ashamed, tugging down the hem of the skirt as he walked over.

“I thought I’d do something nice for your birthday, since it’s peacetime,” he said, trying to distract himself from the situation. “I asked Catherine if she could think of anything, and she told me you liked stuff like this...”

“Really,” Shamir drawled. “You did it without much argument, it seems.”

Cyril seemed to be catching on. “You’ve been really good to me, Shamir. So I—”

“Shut up. Take your cock out.” Cyril made an indescribable sound. Shamir chalked it up to arousal. “Well? You didn’t just come in here to show off your little outfit, did you? You came in here so I could fuck you. Right?”

“I—”

“Or maybe you did just come to let me see the outfit. You couldn’t help yourself. You were embarrassed when you put it on at first, but then you realized how much you liked it, right?” Cyril was stunned for a second, but Shamir’s brief second of silence gave him a chance to follow her orders and untuck himself from—Goddess, he was wearing panties? White with a black trim, pretty lacy panties that he’d tucked his cock into. Shamir was going to lose her mind if she didn’t do something to him. “Pathetic. You can’t even bring yourself to admit that you like wearing this, so you pin it on me.”

“No! I’m not pinning it on you, I just...” Cyril seemed to be expecting to be cut off again, but Shamir let him wallow in it that time. Finally, after a few deep inhales, he said, meekly, “I just wanted to make you happy.”

“Cute excuse.”

Shamir’s dreams were coming true, all at once, because of some drunken confession she’d made to Catherine years before. She couldn’t remember if she’d mentioned Cyril by name, but maybe she had—did Rhea really expect for her to keep her hands off a boy like Cyril? She’d been wanting him since day one, but she knew she had to wait, and  _ Goddess, _ was it worth it. She wondered if he could indulge all of her fantasies that night. She had plenty of toys she wanted to try on him: nipple clamps, dildoes, handcuffs, flogs. 

_ My pretty little maid boy. _

He was earnest, at least, finally letting some of his restraint go once his shaft was bared to her. He was of average length, but size didn’t really matter to her. She didn’t need him inside of her to get off. It was enough just to  _ look _ at him, to look at his body in that maid outfit. She thought he looked gorgeous, like an angel on Earth.

But telling him that would ruin the fun.

“You look silly. Did you think you looked good in this?”

“Wh-what? No, I—I just thought you’d like it,” he said. “You don’t?”

“Look at you, Cyril. All the strength and pride I’ve taught you over the years and you’d rather throw it all away on a whorish outfit. Bit of a shame.”

Shamir nearly felt bad, knowing how much Cyril wanted her approval. If she was lucky, their relationship wouldn’t be irreparable after what she was about to do. If she was even luckier, he’d let her do it again.

“Sorry...I thought you’d like it,” he repeated, dumbstruck.

“It doesn’t matter what I like, does it?  _ You _ clearly like it, and that’s why you put it on,” she said. She watched his dick twitch, hanging over the waistband of his panties. He nervously swept his hair back from the frilly headband of the outfit. “You’re boring me just standing there, looking stupid. It barely fits you.” Shamir pulled at the skirt for emphasis. “...I’ll give you the benefit of letting you come in front of me. Hurry up before I lose interest.”

“You want me to do it?”

She’d considered stroking him, but that’d be too easy. She wouldn’t waste an opportunity like this. “Who else? You’re my present, aren’t you? I shouldn’t have to work for this.”

“Yeah. Okay,” Cyril said. He sounded surprisingly determined as he wrapped his hand around his shaft, stroking himself gently. “Like that?”

“Give me a little more. You’re excited, aren’t you?”

“A-a little...”

Cyril started to pump his hand faster, with more gusto. A bead of pre-come was squeezed out from his tip, landing on the thigh of her crossed legs. He was really a handsome boy—no, he’d earned the right to be called a man. Or, had he, dressed up like that and jerking off on command? Maybe he was still just a boy. A confused little boy, desperate for approval.

“Tell me more about your outfit, Cyril. What do you think? You like it, don’t you?”

Cyril was gripping himself hard. Maybe it hurt, maybe he liked it like that. “I guess I like it...i-it was embarrassing to think about when Catherine suggested it, but—I think...I think I look pretty nice in it.”

“Do you? You’ll find you’re alone in thinking that,” Shamir informed. “If I brought you out into the monastery like this, toted you around, everyone would look at you and call you a slut. You look fucking ridiculous.”

“No,” Cyril whined. “Don’t say that. I-I like it, I like how I look.”

No, maybe she was wrong before. Maybe she  _ did _ need him to fuck her. Her pussy was nearly aching, she was so wet, and he wanted her so  _ bad. _ “You want me to show you off, then? You seemed really excited to show me.”

His hand moved faster. She was quickly finding out what he liked, and was pleased to discover that he was very compatible with her. “Nah, I only wore it...I only wore it for you...”

“Don’t lie to me, Cyril,” she warned. “You like it, you said you did. This isn’t the first time you’ve thought about this. It may not have been me you were thinking about, maybe not even this outfit, but people like you aren’t good for much else. You look hideous in this thing, but that’s all you’re worth, right?”

He was steadily dripping pre-come into her lap, and he’d closed his eyes to avoid her gaze. She was hardly looking at his face, though; she was looking at his body, toned from wyvern-riding and pulling bowstrings. His thighs were thick, muscled, and they looked so  _ good _ in those stockings, but she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of telling him that. She wanted to see him bent over in that skirt, lifting it up to present his erection to her, kneeling in front of her.

Shamir wanted to  _ touch _ him, but not yet. She held off, as if to save him for later. Besides, he was doing quite well on his own, quickly fucking into his own hand and mumbling pleas. 

“Goddess, Shamir—feels so good—I like it, I do, it’s—please, let me, let me—”

“Go ahead. Come all over your pretty skirt for me.”

Before Shamir’s sentence had fully left her mouth, Cyril was spilling into his hand, Shamir’s leggings, and most importantly, the frills of his costume. It was already a bit disheveled from his rigorous stroking, but it looked even more ruined once he’d spent himself on its skirt. He looked cute, all prim and proper and done-up, but she liked him more like that, sweating and panting and shaking and near tears.

He seemed unsteady on his feet, after he’d finished, still touching himself even after he was empty. Shamir watched him, fascinated, for a few long moments. Finally, she said, “Enough. You’ve had enough.”

Cyril couldn’t help giving himself a few more loose strokes before pulling his hand away, glancing down at the ropes of semen he’d left on his own fingers. Then, with horror, he noticed the present he’d left on Shamir’s leggings. “Oh. Oh, no, Goddess, no—I’m sorry, Shamir, I—”

“Quit apologizing. You’re a maid, aren’t you? Clean it up.”


End file.
